


The Taste of Pomegranate

by alienheartattack (Sanneke)



Series: Ballet AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/M, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension, rivamika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanneke/pseuds/alienheartattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa Ackerman has just landed her first big role, dancing a pas de deux in a showcase for Erwin Smith’s dance company, but the partner he’s chosen for her is driving her insane. Ballet AU from an anonymous prompt on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entrée

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Mikasa is 21 and Levi is around 30.

Mikasa Ackerman cannot imagine that the man standing by the door could ever be a ballet dancer.

He’s powerfully built, sure, his slim-cut t-shirt and dance pants outlining his lean muscles, but he’s far too small. He has to be least three or four inches shorter than she is, she estimates. And, worst of all, he seems to be glaring at her as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than in this studio with her, rehearsing what Mikasa has been told is supposed to be a passionate pas de deux. 

She figures that part, at least, is her fault. While warming up at the barre earlier that day, she was apparently a little too loud as she leaned over to the dancer next to her and whispered, “Who’s the shorty?”

Mikasa isn’t worried. A part of her thinks that mutual hatred could actually benefit their performance, their animosity translating into explosive chemistry onstage. Then again, a part of her thinks she needs all the friends she can get if she wants to advance any further in her dance career. Mostly she wonders who the fuck this midget thinks he is, staring her down from across the room.

Mikasa’s apparent partner in this pas de deux is chatting with Erwin Smith, director and choreographer of the ballet company. The difference in their heights is almost comical. The guy barely comes up to Erwin’s shoulder, and he looks fragile, breakable even, compared to the director’s commanding height and trim bulk.

"Mikasa," Erwin calls from across the room. "Come meet Levi." She pads across the studio in her soft leather ballet shoes until she is standing before him (and looking down at him, semi-intentionally). "Mikasa, Levi. Levi, Mikasa." She realizes that this guy is Levi Ackerman, one of Erwin’s first principal dancers, and she freezes. She has heard about him — it is hard not to, considering his stellar reputation and the fact that people still ask her if they are related — and has watched videos of a few of his performances; he is mostly retired now, spending most of his time teaching pliés to preschoolers, but at the peak of his career he was simply a force of nature. There was no other way to describe the fluidity of his body, his highly trained muscles primed to perform even the slightest movements with perfect grace and poise.

She just hadn’t expected him to be so  _short_.

Mikasa sticks out her hand as a polite reflex, pasting on an embarrassed smile. Levi looks at the offered hand, then back up at her face with a bored and mildly hostile gaze. His hands remain at his sides. Mikasa’s folds her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling the need to protect herself.

"Nice to meet you," she mumbles. Levi stays silent, seemingly staring through her with cold blue-gray eyes. "Is he always like this?" she asks Erwin.

"Only for the first few days. Look, I’m going to be honest with you, his methods of practice are a bit unorthodox, but you’ll thank me come opening night. He’s going to really make you work. Just go with it. He knows what he’s doing." 

At that moment, deciding to accept this opportunity to dance with Levi seems like the stupidest thing she has ever done. Mikasa furrows her brow and wonders what the hell she has gotten herself into, tangling herself with a man who looks at her as though she is a stain to be removed. But she wants to succeed, so she gives Erwin a curt nod and tells herself she can handle whatever the shorty plans to throw her way. 

Erwin smiles at her. “You’re gonna do great, kid. Levi will take good care of you.” He touches her shoulder briefly, then walks toward the door.

A few moments after Erwin leaves, Levi finally speaks. “Erwin tells me you’re one of his best,” he says, regarding her with an impassive gaze, “so I’m not going to go easy on you.” She is surprised to find that his voice is much deeper than she expected it to be, a low, sardonic rumble in his delicate throat.

"I’m ready for whatever you’ve got," she replies, her mouth curling into a feline smile. She is a professional. She is absolutely sure she can handle this Napoleon’s power trips.

They practice for less than an hour. Mikasa leaves in tears.


	2. Adagio

Levi starts to show up at the gym during her daily workouts. Mikasa almost hits herself in the face with a kettlebell when she sees him standing behind her as she does squats.

"Your form is shit," he says, his voice utterly lacking in emotion. "You need to stick your ass out more." She ignores him and continues moving, crouching down, then swinging the kettlebell up and out as she rises, silently counting her breaths.  She hears his footfalls against the floor and then he is standing before her, glowering down at her as she exercises. "Don’t ignore me. I’m doing this for your own good."

"Berating me for my own good?  How thoughtful of you," she sneers.  She is happily surprised she can still sound this sarcastic as she huffs with exertion, cold sweat dripping down her face.

He folds his arms.  “Okay, then how’s this: I don’t want to look like an asshole on stage in two months because my partner sucks.”  Mikasa puts down the kettlebell and rises, making sure to pull herself up to her full height before approaching him.

"Fine" is all she says as she sweeps her hand out, inviting him to show her what she is doing wrong.  Levi keeps his eyes, narrowed into irritated slits, on her as he takes her place and picks up the kettlebell, then crouches down.

"Look at me.  Look how my lower back is pulled in and my ass juts out."

Mikasa curls her lip. “You want me to look at your ass?” she chuckles.

"Grow up," he spits.  He pulls himself up, the muscles in his legs bulging as they support his weight.  His movements are fluid, clearly practiced.  After twenty squats in a row, he is barely breaking a sweat. Mikasa has always considered herself to be in excellent shape, has spent more time than she’d like to admit flexing in the mirror in her bathroom, but this guy is just ridiculous.  Levi stands up, depositing the kettlebell on the floor as though it weighs nothing.  "Your turn." Mikasa takes his place and starts doing the exercise. "No, no," he says as she pulls herself to a standing position. " _In,_ " he growls, hitting her on the small of her back.

Her eyes widen in shock: his slap stings a bit, but it is more the intimacy of his brief touch, his fingers landing millimeters above the swell of her ass, that throws her off balance.

"Don’t touch me like that again," she warns him, fixing a furious gaze on him as she dips down and brings herself back up.

"Then squat properly," he tells her. Mikasa exhales heavily and stands. She makes a show of slightly arching her back, then crouches down again. "That’s better. Do nine more, then rest. We’ll do three sets of ten."

She has to admit, judging by the strain she feels in her lower back as she goes down and raises herself up over and over, that he is right. She hates him for it.

Ninety minutes later, drenched in sweat, her muscles weary, Mikasa furiously pedals her bike through the city streets, swerving in and out of traffic without a care for herself or anyone around her.  Cars honk at her as she cuts them off.  A young woman holding a toddler’s hand screams at her as she barrels through an intersection without stopping.  Mikasa cannot possibly care less.  Her fury is so great, so boundless, that the world seems to transform around her.  The drivers of all of the cars are Levi.  The woman shouting at her from the corner is Levi.  Her small child is  _especially_  Levi.

When Mikasa pulls up to her apartment building, she locks her bike outside and then runs up the stairs to her tiny fifth-floor walkup, slamming the door behind her. She wishes she owned something on which to take out her anger, but the softest thing in her apartment is a flat, old pillow so instead she takes the hottest shower she can muster.  It calms her down to the point where she still feels the urge to punch a wall, but knows that doing so would be foolish. She can imagine Levi examining her bruised and bloodied knuckles, scoffing at her hotheadedness. Mikasa scowls at the mental image and kicks a flimsy plastic chair across her apartment.  It does not make her feel better; she imagines her partner would not go flying so easily.

Back at the studio that afternoon, Levi is outside waiting for her as she pulls up on her bike, coasting to a stop in front of him.

" _That’s_ how you get around?" he asks as she dismounts, takes off her helmet, and picks up her bike to carry it up the steps and into the dance studio. 

"Not usually.  My horse is getting reshoed," Mikasa retorts as she follows Levi inside, setting her bike down. To her surprise, he holds the door for her.

"Funny," he deadpans, heading for the stairwell.

"Thanks," she replies, resting her bike against the wall in the lobby and following him upstairs. She smirks as she notices that he takes the stairs two at a time.

Levi looks at her over his shoulder. “I was being sarcastic.”

"I know." He frowns at her, then starts taking the steps three at a time. Mikasa lets him get ahead of her, not feeling the need to match his posturing.

"Don’t trip," she murmurs.

Rehearsing with him always feels so strange. Erwin has created a series of dances based upon mythologies, and their performance is one of the centerpieces of the upcoming showcase: Mikasa is Persephone, and Levi is Hades. He has been told, quite explicitly, to make his performance reptilian, to slither over and around her as he coaxes pomegranate arils into her mouth.

Mikasa looks forward to the opportunity to literally bite the hand that feeds her. She has caught herself daydreaming about digging her teeth deep into the nerve-rich pads of his slim fingers.

She thinks it is only fair for her to dream of violence. For two hours Levi alternately insults her and ignores her while they work out. For four or more hours he alternately insults her and ignores her while gathering her in his arms, running his hands over her muscular curves, pressing his fingers to her lips. She finds it unbearable on the better days, dreams of collapsing dead at his feet on days where he criticizes everything from the arch of her feet to the smell of her sweat.

Her grueling, interminable practices with a man she hates are the most physically intimate thing she’s done in eighteen months. Mikasa tries not to think about it too much. Most evenings, she spends hours leaning out the narrow window in her bedroom, chain smoking cigarettes, before she can relax enough to cook herself dinner, channel surf, fall asleep, and get up the next day for more of the same.

Two weeks pass and she feels as though she has made little progress. Some nights she cannot sleep and she spends hours with her head out the window, watching cars go by five stories below as cigarette after cigarette disappears. Some days she smokes an entire pack. Levi starts calling her at six-thirty each morning to ensure she is adequately awake by seven, when he shows up at her apartment building for a five-mile run. Each morning she finds herself trailing after him, her breath burning through her roughened lungs, her sleep-deprived muscles screaming their resistance. Mikasa knows she needs to quit smoking, but after hours of Levi’s barbs each day, her nightly cigarettes are the only thing she has to look forward to.

"You’re doing especially poorly today," he tells her after she manages to stumble and fall forward into his arms during an arabesque penché. He pushes her away. "What is going on with you?”

She grits her teeth. “Nothing.”

Levi frowns at her. “It’s not nothing. You’re getting careless and making rookie mistakes.”

"I’m fine."

"No, you’re awful right now." His words hurt, because deep down she knows he’s absolutely right.

She tries the move again and falters once more. “Fuck, Mikasa, you are sucking  _ass_  today,” he growls, shaking his head. He turns and walks away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Frustration radiates off him in waves, but his anger is nothing compared to how much she hates herself right now.

_Maybe,_ she thinks, _if I wasn’t such a failure as a dancer, Levi wouldn’t be telling me how terrible I am for eight hours each day._

"I need a minute," she blurts and walks away from him.

"Don’t leave," he snaps. "You’re acting like a baby."

She grabs her purse and runs for the closest door, completely ignoring the enormous “EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY — ALARM WILL SOUND” sign emblazoned across it in caution yellow. She pushes the bar and winces as the alarm blares, but forges ahead anyway and steps out onto the fire escape. Her hands shake as she digs through her purse, finally locating a battered pack of Camels and a cheap orange plastic lighter with only a splash of butane inside. She feels her control starting to slip and tears starting to form in the inner corners of her eyes as the wind blows out the first flame she is able to produce. Her second attempt works and soon she is inhaling the cigarette smoke, remembering what it is like to breathe freely, briefly but blissfully away from Levi’s constant criticism.

"Filthy habit," Levi remarks as he steps out onto the fire escape.

"Will you please leave,” Mikasa implores him, unable to look at him, her voice wavering with unshed tears. "Ever since I met you, you’ve been horrible to me. I can’t take this anymore."

He exhales through his nose and frowns at her profile. “Yes, you can take it. And you should want to.”

"You don’t know shit about me," she sniffles. She turns her body away from him, looking out at the skyline.

He pauses for a moment, sighs. “I know you’re an amazing dancer.”

Mikasa chokes on her anger and laughs at the same time, her back still to him. “Now you’re going to kiss my ass?”

"No. I’m stating the facts. Just like when I say you can’t jeté worth a damn, that’s a fact too. You don’t get enough lift."

This last jab at her breaks the dam and Mikasa swipes at her face, wiping tears away. “Do I have to have a fucking mental breakdown in order to have two fucking minutes without negative reinforcement?” she all but sobs, gesticulating wildly with her lit cigarette as she speaks. She presses her lips to the filter and greedily sucks down the sweet, acrid smoke. The deep breathing calms her, but the nicotine makes her nerves thrum and she starts to think today might be the day she actually tries to fight Levi Ackerman.

"Since you’ve been resisting everything I’ve said for the past two weeks, I guess I have to be a bit more obvious. I’m pushing you, Mikasa. Erwin even told you I’d do it. Look, I’ve seen you practice. You’re really good, but you could be a lot better. That’s why Erwin brought me in. I danced with Petra at her debut, too."

Mikasa’s tear-filled eyes widen and she turns back around to him. “Petra  _Ral?_ ”

"Yeah, and now she’s—"

"—At ABT. I know." She takes one last drag of her cigarette and stubs it out on the side of the building. "That’s the dream."

"Try harder and be more disciplined. Then you’ll have a real shot."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Have you ever seen me not be serious?”  Mikasa twists her mouth to one side in thought, then comes to the conclusion that she has not once seen him crack a joke or laugh. "Come here." Levi holds his arms open, waving her over with one hand. "Hug it out."

Mikasa narrows her eyes at him, suspicious of his offer. “Is this a trick?” 

Levi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m not going to be this nice for much longer, so take advantage of it while you still can.”

Mikasa exhales, the tension releasing from her shoulders. She slouches a bit — perhaps subconsciously trying to bring herself down to his size, to submit? — and accepts his hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It feels surprisingly good, mainly because for the first time in two weeks he is quiet, but it is not the stony silence of his utter disappointment in her. 

She feels him shift, then the caress of his breath, hot against her ear. She is surprised to find that her heart starts racing.

"I hope you enjoyed that cigarette, because it’s your last one. And if you pull any diva shit like this again, Erwin will find out." He steps back, grins at her, and goes back inside.

Levi can hear her stream of invective even through the thick metal door. “She’ll learn,” he tells himself.


	3. Her Variation

Weeks later, Mikasa falls asleep while watching Fight Club. That night she dreams of straddling Levi’s chest and pummeling him until she feels the bones in his face crack like eggshells beneath her avenging fists. When she wakes up, fists still clenched, she feels strangely calm. When she walks into her bathroom to brush her teeth before her morning run with Levi, she finds that she is smiling.

As she is lacing up her sneakers for her daily run with Levi, her phone buzzes with a text: “Come downstairs.”

"Be down in a minute," she texts back, gritting her teeth at the thought of spending yet another day with him. Then she remembers her dream, and her mouth contorts into a horrible rictus of a smile at the thought of hauling back and planting her fist into his face.

Mikasa realizes her anger is still writ large on her face when Levi greets her with, “You ready, killer?” as he jogs in place.

"Don’t talk to me," she snarls, then breaks into a full run before he can reply. Three blocks later, still running as fast as she can, she turns her head to look back at Levi. He is silent, as he always is when he exercises, but his face is already flushed and perspiration starts to darken his t-shirt.

Mikasa smiles to herself and speeds up even more.

At the gym, she sets a personal record for bench press. Levi says nothing, just watches her exert herself, grunting and sweating and mumbling curses as her muscles burn and shake. She doesn’t speak to him until she is done her workout. 

"I want to go to the studio now," she states blankly.

"Okay," he says, and drives her there without saying another word.  She seethes the entire way, her anger still not sated. Perhaps she will actually try to bite him today.

She wastes no time changing into a spare sports bra and shorts, forgoing her usual leotard and leggings. Besides, she figures, Erwin has implied that her costume for the performance will be quite insubstantial, and she may as well get used to the idea of Levi pawing at her in the name of art.

Levi hooks up his phone to the sound system in the room and puts on some mid-tempo piano music. He goes over to the barre and warms himself up, stretching his arms and legs as far as they will go, contorting his body until his back arches in a perfect curve and his knees hyperextend. Mikasa turns her back to him and does her own barre work, going through each position, plié, relevé, battement, rond de jambe, and on to the next one. 

When she is satisfied with her form she decides that today is the day she is going to show Levi that she can jeté worth a damn, that she can jeté better than everyone else in the whole fucking world, Levi included. Mikasa figures this is as good a day as any. Anger burns through her bloodstream, infusing her muscles with what feels like additional strength. Her movements feel powerful, deliberate. The self-loathing voice that has weaseled its way into her head in the past month is gone, replaced with the furious rush of her blood in her ears.

Mikasa takes her place in one corner of the room, pointing her body at the corner diagonal to her so she has maximum room.  She starts off running, then pushes off from her right leg and extends her left as she soars through the air. She lands heavily and stumbles, then shakes her head and starts back from her original position. Levi stops warming up and turns to watch her, leaning his elbows on the barre.

After breaking down her movements and diagnosing herself as insufficiently pushing herself off with her left leg before she jumps, she alters her technique slightly and finds herself springing into the air, briefly held aloft before she seemingly glides back to earth and lands softly.  Although she is only lifting herself another inch or so, after thousands of jumps she has become used to being a certain height above the ground. The difference briefly makes her feel six years old again, that first time she felt like she could fly, back before being airborne became commonplace. She takes a few leaps across the studio, intermixes them with spins and steps until she is simply dancing her way across the room, improvising as she goes. For the first time in nearly a month, Mikasa feels the familiar freedom of movement, her limbs cutting through the air. She loves dancing because it is a space in which only she can inhabit. It is so physical, so visceral, and it is hers and hers alone.

"You done?" Levi’s inscrutable monotone interrupts her brief moment of happiness.  Mikasa sighs dejectedly and nods at him. The anger fills her body again and she feels cognizant of seemingly every inch of her body, every fiber of muscle. She feels like a predator about to spring.

Then he takes off his shirt, and she has to remind herself that she still hates him, that eight hours earlier she slept peacefully while dreaming of fracturing his orbital bone. He is somehow both lean and heavily muscled, the ridge of his collarbone protruding delicately above defined pectorals and abdominals. Mikasa realizes that if she’s not wearing much in the performance, then Levi will probably be mostly unclothed as well.

She realizes that she can’t be affected by the sight of Levi’s bare torso if she’s the one tormenting him.

Levi goes over to the sound system and puts on the music Erwin has had composed for the piece, an intensely rhythmic cacophony of drums, strings, and chanting, which he claims is inspired by the music of Ancient Greece.  She doesn’t like it, but the driving beat helps propel her as she runs away from, then is embraced by Levi.

They circle each other like boxers as they take their places on the floor, assessing each other through sidelong glares. Mikasa’s heart starts to speed up in anticipation. She feels an electricity in the air.  Prior to that moment she had always dismissed that idiom as a fanciful metaphor but now she feels it, pins and needles against her skin. 

The music starts and Mikasa takes her first few tentative steps as Persephone, not knowing she is being watched by Hades, defiantly dancing her independence as he sneaks up behind her, captivated by her beauty. Levi glides up behind her, grips her by the hips, and lifts her as she poses in an exaggerated swoon, limbs artfully bent.  Mikasa imagines her skin radiating heat, burning Levi’s hands as he carries her and she arches around him. Their characters struggle, Persephone attempting to escape but never being able to get more than a few feet from Hades’ grasping arms. A discordant glissando denotes their descent into hell as Levi effortlessly places her over his shoulder. Mikasa moves her arms and legs in an artful approximation of unwilling flailing. Her limbs somehow feel more curved, more delicate-looking yet stronger, as she contorts, poses, contorts again.

He puts her down and their chase resumes, their bodies rapidly advancing toward and retreating from one another. Levi dives forward with the speed and grace of a hawk; Mikasa pirouettes away, trailing one hand behind her. He grabs her hand, spins her, and pulls her to his chest, forcing her captive hand to trail down the ridges of his stomach to his hard thigh. Mikasa tries to pull away as he does so, though for a brief moment she is not sure if she is playing the unwilling Persephone or whether she simply cannot bear to touch him.

Levi lets her go and she leaps away, their steps synchronizing as they simulate her running from him. Mikasa does not need to look at Levi but she can somehow feel him, knows his movements exist in perfect unison with hers, that they jump at the same height, that their heads will incline at identical angles when they arabesque. 

Finally, in the last part of the piece, Hades catches up with Persephone and feeds her the pomegranate seeds. Levi gets down on one knee and Mikasa must drape herself over his thigh while he writhes atop her. The music slows as he holds her in his arms, tangling one hand in her damp, sweaty hair while the fingers of his other hand dance across her face, landing between her parted lips. They hold that pose as the music stops, their chests rising and falling at the same time.

Levi helps Mikasa up, then claps slowly. She shakes herself out of her rage-poise, feeling spent, and allows her stiffened spine to relax for the first time in hours.

"I can’t tell if that’s sarcastic applause or not," she says after a few moments.

"It’s not. You did really well. I’m proud of you." His clapping ceases and Levi lets his hands fall to his sides. "Now go home and take a fucking shower, because you smell like an armpit. And next time you’d better bathe between the gym and the studio. I don’t care how amped up you are or how well you’re dancing."

"Fuck you, Levi," she laughs, picking up her bag and heading toward the door. "I’ll be back in a couple of hours."

Behind her retreating back, Levi smiles.


	4. His Variation

Levi texts her as usual at six-thirty in the morning, but this time his text says, “LET ME IN.”  Mikasa puts on her running shoes and buzzes him in the building, then realizes that he does not know which apartment she lives in. She goes into the hallway and leans over the railing that overlooks the stairs. Levi is standing on the first floor, trying to determine where to go.

"Up here!" she calls, waving her hand to get his attention. Mikasa sees him square his shoulders before he approaches the steps.

"You live in a fucking fifth-floor walk up?" Levi groans as he finally reaches her door.

"Nice to see you too, Levi,” she replies dryly, letting him in her apartment. He is not dressed to exercise, instead wearing slim black jeans and a white oxford shirt rolled to his elbows, exposing his muscled forearms, veins slightly bulging. He carries a white plastic grocery bag in one hand. He looks too regular, too human right now. The Levi she knows is all muscle and kinetic energy. "What’s the deal? No run today?" Mikasa is surprised to find that she is somewhat disappointed.

"No run today. No practice, either. Hanji has food poisoning or something so I told her I’d cover her classes for the day. Ironically she’s covering the classes that I had to drop, so I’m actually pretty excited to see my kids again. I hope you understand," he says.

"Yeah, no problem. So, wait, why are you here, then?"

"Because of this." He lifts the plastic bag. "Just because we’re not dancing today doesn’t mean we’re not working on our performance."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Mikasa answers, shaking her head.

"Where’s your kitchen? I need a cutting board, a bowl, and a knife." She motions for him to follow as she walks from her sparsely furnished living room into a narrow hallway that leads to a minuscule kitchen. Levi sits down at a folding table that is placed next to a small window. His eyes rove over the scene before him, counters cluttered with cans and jars, dishes piled high next to the tiny sink, loose floor tiles with yellowed grout between them. The tiny table at which he sits has two indistinguishable dark stains on its surface. He cannot tell whether Mikasa is a slob or whether she cannot afford to live anywhere nicer, and concludes that the answer is somewhere in the middle.

She brings him the requested items, then disappears into the next room, what Levi assumes is her bedroom. He unpacks two large ripe pomegranates from the plastic bag and waits for Mikasa until she emerges, having swapped out her form-fitting workout gear for shorts, a loose-fitting red t-shirt that exposes a pale shoulder, and bare feet. Instead of her usual tight bun, she wears her long hair in a messy topknot, strands of black hair framing her face. He has seen her wearing almost nothing, has touched her hundreds of times (including an accidental breast grope that caused them to be unable to make eye contact with each other for the rest of the day), has stared deep into her eyes from inches away, but seeing her in her home, slouching around in oversized clothing feels uncomfortably intimate.

"Do you want something to drink?" she offers, puttering around the kitchen, opening the fridge, peeking in cabinets. "I have water, soy milk, tea, and, uh, whiskey."

"At six thirty in the morning." He says it as a statement, not a question.

"Breakfast of champions," she replies with a goofy smile. 

Levi sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll take tea. Do you have lapsang souchong?”

Mikasa thinks for a moment, then furrows her brow and checks another cabinet. “I do, actually.”

"I’m honestly surprised."

She pulls a box of tea from a clutter-filled cabinet and removes two bags. “The bodega on the corner had a bunch of Chinese tea for some reason, a dollar a box. Luckily I bought a ton because they disappeared pretty soon after I found them.”

"You know you can just go to Chinatown and get more, right?"

Mikasa shrugs. “I guess I just don’t care that much.” She pours water in an electric kettle and turns it on, then pulls two mugs from the drainboard by the sink. One bears the logo of the dance company, the other is hot pink and is emblazoned with the word “princess.” She hands that mug to Levi.

"I’m glad you recognize how secure I am in my masculinity," he comments, briefly posing with the pink mug.

Mikasa smiles at him. “It suits you, princess,” she teases. “For the record, that was a gift.” After she pours boiling water into their mugs, she sits across from Levi at the table, waiting for him to explain what he is doing with two round, red fruits with stems that look like little crowns. Silently, he passes her the cutting board and knife and one of the fruits. “What is this?” she asks, confused.

"It’s a pomegranate," he replies sharply. "You know what a pomegranate looks like, right?"

"Of course I know what a pomegranate looks like," she lies.

"Good. Then cut it open."

"I have no idea what kind of point you’re trying to make here, but okay," she replies, picking up the pomegranate and messily hacking at it with her knife. She cuts the fruit in half, dripping juice all over the cutting board, then starts peeling at the tough inner flesh with the knife, then her fingers before she gets up and retrieves a spoon.

"Jeez, Mikasa, what did that fruit ever do to you?" Levi asks.

"This thing is impossible," Mikasa grunts, stabbing away at the pomegranate with the spoon. The tip of her tongue emerges from her mouth as she concentrates on scraping the arils away from the tough white membrane inside.

He watches her mangle the fruit, an amused smile playing across his lips. “You’re doing it wrong. You can’t just start cutting away at it.”

Mikasa throws down her spoon and looks at him, fury in her dark eyes. “Levi, I swear to god—”

"Think about what you’re doing. Approach the task mindfully."

"How the fuck am I—" Mikasa pauses, takes a deep breath. "I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do this properly if I’ve never done it before," she says, almost calm.

"Next time, ask before you murder the fruit." He motions for her to pass him the cutting board and knife. He starts making small cuts in the pomegranate, digging out the crown-shaped stem and dividing the fruit into six segments. Or he tries to, at least; he finds himself ineffectually sawing through the fruit, hindered by the dullness of the knife.

"Where did you get this knife? It’s terrible," Levi mutters, grimacing as pomegranate juice stains his hands.

Mikasa frowns. “Ikea,” she admits. 

Levi hisses, “Jesus Christ, Mikasa.” 

"Sorry, I guess I should have gotten a better knife just in case you showed up at my home unannounced and asked me to cut fruit with you." She gets up and rifles around in a drawer to see if she has anything sharper. "I have a bread knife," she suggests.

"Bring it here. I’d probably have an easier time trying to cut this thing with the damn spoon."  Mikasa hands him the knife and he manages to finish segmenting the pomegranate, then picks up a piece and simply brushes the bits of fruit into the bowl with his fingers. "A little help?" he asks. Mikasa picks up a piece of fruit and they work in silence for a few minutes until the bowl is full of pomegranate arils, glimmering like rubies in the early morning sunlight.

"So how does this relate to the performance?" Mikasa asks, reaching into the bowl with the spoon and eating a few pieces of fruit. The arils burst between her teeth, dripping tart-sweet juice onto her tongue. "Aside from the pomegranate," she adds, her mouth full.

Levi picks a few pieces of fruit from the bowl and places them on his tongue. “If you just hack away at the pomegranate, like you did, you lose the integrity of the fruit inside. There’s juice all over the cutting board now. But if you work strategically, you work smart, you succeed.” 

She presses her mouth into a firm line. “The juice is from both of us, though.”

Levi scowls and thinks for a moment. “That’s because I had a dull knife. But I can even turn that into a metaphor if you want. You also need the proper tool in perfect working condition—”

"Oh my god, can you please stop with the Yoda shit? I get your point!" Mikasa interrupts him. She scoops up a few arils with her fingers and throws one at him, which lands squarely in the hollow of his collarbone, leaving a reddish smear.

Levi wipes the juice away and smirks. “I have to do this ‘Yoda shit’ because you insist on acting like this.”

"Oh, you’re no fun," she whines, throwing another aril at him.

"Stop," he insists, but his tone is betrayed by a smile that plays at the corners of his lips. Mikasa shakes her head and lobs another piece of fruit his way; he blocks it with his palm. He reaches into the bowl and lets a small handful of arils fly at her. She wrinkles her nose as her face and chest are peppered with small projectiles. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a surprised O and then they are staring each other down, each waiting for the other to make a move. "Wait a sec," Levi says, then unbuttons his shirt, revealing a white undershirt beneath. When he has neatly folded the shirt and placed it on the floor atop the plastic bag, he reaches into the bowl and grabs more fruit, lobbing it at Mikasa with deadly accuracy.

She shrieks with laughter and ducks down, reaching up to grab a handful of arils. She throws a few at Levi as covering fire as she rolls out of her chair and retreats further into the kitchen, shooting pieces of fruit at him with short, powerful overhand throws. Soon she runs out of ammunition and Levi gets up and follows her with the bowl in one hand, tossing arils at her slowly, taunting her. She bats most of them away, but a few bounce off of her face and neck. Mikasa retreats until her back is pressed against the refrigerator and Levi approaches her, lazily throwing pieces of pomegranate at her.

"Are we done?" he asks calmly, but there is a fire in his steely eyes that communicates to Mikasa what he is really thinking:  _You didn’t think ahead, so I beat you. Admit it._

Mikasa throws up her hands. “All right, I give up!” Levi nods at her, a satisfied half-smile on his face, then resumes his seat at the table. Mikasa walks over to the sink to rinse off her hands and face. When her skin no longer feels sticky with pomegranate juice, she pads into her bedroom and comes out holding a black pen-looking thing in one hand. She puts her lips to one end, inhales, and breathes out a plume of smoke.

"I told you, no more smoking," Levi reminds her sternly, wiping his hands and face with a piece of paper towel.

Mikasa shrugs and sits down sideways on the chair, leaning her back against the wall and crossing her legs. “It’s vapor, Levi. I’m trying to quit. This is just nicotine. And, uh, caramel cheesecake flavor,” she adds bashfully. She offers him the vaporizer pen. “Wanna try?”

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs and takes it.  The mouthpiece is slightly damp with saliva. He breathes in, tasting a sour-sweet artificial flavor that is apparently supposed to approximate caramel and cheesecake. It burns his lungs and they start to spasm, wracking his chest with deep barking coughs. “That’s fucking disgusting,” he chokes out, returning the pen to her.

"Really? I love it," Mikasa says, taking a long drag and breathing out a huge plume of sweetly scented vapor. Levi finds himself drawn to the soft pout of her lips as she exhales. He thinks smoking is disgusting, but a deep, shameful part of him finds the sight of smoke escaping a woman’s parted lips — _Mikasa’s_  lips — to be more of a turn-on than he would like to admit.

"Take today off," he replies quickly, changing the subject and interrupting his train of thought before it can go any further. "Go see a movie or something. Tomorrow we start working with props."


	5. Coda

For every performance, Erwin holds dress rehearsals for two weeks before opening night. Although he is generally hands-off while the dancers practice, preferring to let them interpret his choreography, it is tradition that he sit in the front row for each day of dress rehearsals, watching quietly, scribbling notes on a clipboard. After each performance he barks both compliments and criticisms at the dancers, pointing out instances where legs should be lifted higher, spines should be more supple, but generally he is pleased at the development of each piece.

Levi and Mikasa are scheduled to end the first half of the show, their piece the last one before intermission. Before them, there is a pas de deux depicting the story of Diana and Actaeon, until they are joined by a small herd of intermediate ballet students dressed as hounds, who pretend to tear Actaeon apart. Mikasa watches nervously from the wings, hugging herself with her arms so as to cover some of the skin exposed by her costume. She is wearing a draped white dress that is pinned at the shoulders, strips of fabric crisscrossing over her breasts and hips before combining into a short skirt shot through with gold threads which catch the light as she moves. Erwin has instructed that she wear her hair down; it falls to the middle of her back and tickles the exposed skin there, a constant reminder of her near-nudity.

She has not yet seen Levi today. His call time is an hour before hers; he apparently requires more time in makeup than she does. After fifteen minutes, Mikasa was sent away with minimal stage makeup and a liberal dusting of a shimmery powder that made her sneeze; Erwin’s instructions were to make her look earthy, alive. She smirks as she tries to imagine what Levi has had to endure to look like the ruler of the underworld. She cannot think of him willingly allowing people to smear him with colored gunk, can imagine him practically vibrating with anxiety as he counts down the seconds until he can take a shower. Then again, Mikasa thinks, Levi is a consummate professional and will probably save his disgust until he is done the performance.

The music for the Diana and Actaeon piece ends and the dancers take their places in a line before Erwin’s coolly assessing gaze. From the wings, Mikasa cannot tell exactly what Erwin is saying, or whether it is positive or negative. After a few minutes, the small crowd of dancers disperses, and Mikasa hears Erwin perfectly as he shouts, “NEXT!”

Mikasa inhales a shaky breath as the music starts, drumbeats seemingly pulsating into the floor and back up through her bones. She stands tall and dances out onto the stage, bending down toward the ground and rising again, leaping, turning, as she pretends to pick flowers and revel in the beauty of nature. The music grows more complex, strings and voices joining the drums, as Levi dances onstage behind her. She cannot see him but after so many weeks of practicing together she can sense him, knows he is reaching his arms out toward her and slowly slither-stalking his way over to her before he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her to him.

She feels her back press against his muscular chest and leans forward, trying to get away from him. Mikasa breaks free briefly but is caught by Levi’s hands on her hips, then he is holding her aloft. They repeat this series of movements a few times, Mikasa getting slightly farther away with each attempt, but in the end he catches her, spins her, and clutches her to his chest.

She is almost knocked out of character when she is finally face-to-face with Levi. She looks him up and down, a shocked look on her face, and sees that he has been transformed, the angles of his face highlighted with black and blue makeup. Black eyeshadow has been smeared around both his eyes and across the bridge of his nose, making his already intense gaze that much more focused. His arms and chest are similarly contoured. He looks otherworldly, darkly powerful. By contrast, Mikasa shines like a pearl in his darkened arms, the harsh stage lights reflecting off of the powder coating her skin.

Mikasa swears his eyes widen too, just a little, when he finally sees her face.

Levi lifts her over his shoulder as they mime their descent into the underworld, her limbs flailing in protest as his simulate carrying her off to the kingdom of the dead. When he puts her down she scurries off, performing an agonized series of crawling steps and spins as Levi crosses the stage and retrieves a small rounded box painted to look like a pomegranate. The box is hinged so that when Levi opens it, it looks as though he is splitting the fruit in half with his bare hands. He chases her across the stage while holding it in one hand as they perform their synchronized steps. 

Their chase sequence ends and Levi darts forward toward her, trying to capture her in his arms to feed her bits of pomegranate. She is supposed to run away from him three times as his arms come closer and closer to catching her.

She flashes him an impish look as she deviates from the choreography, eluding him one more time. His eyes widen, then narrow as he seems to dive toward her, catching her with one arm around her waist and slowly bringing her down to meet his bending knee. Mikasa arches her back over his knee as Levi opens the box to reveal a mass of glittering fruit.

Instead of gathering a few arils from the box, Levi grabs all of them in his fist and tosses the box away. It skids halfway across the stage. He tangles his free hand in Mikasa’s hair, pulling her head back and exposing her pale throat. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths, her eyes wide with this new direction he has taken, as Levi briefly runs his lips up her neck to just below her ear, then tries to push the pieces of pomegranate into her mouth. He is usually quite gentle at this point in the piece, but this time he glares down at her and his fingers are insistent, seeking entry. Mikasa obliges him by resisting his grip in her hair and arching up to meet him. She opens her mouth and closes her lips around his hand, bringing her head back and sucking some of the arils from his fingers. Levi’s mouth opens in surprise for a brief moment but then his eyes darken and he is crushing the rest of the fruit against her mouth, dragging his hand down over her chin, down her neck, and between her breasts, leaving a red-purple stain, branding her with his touch.

After the music ends, the sound of Erwin’s thunderous applause seems a thousand miles away as Levi and Mikasa hold that pose, their lips scant inches apart, momentarily unable to stop staring into each other’s eyes.


End file.
